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– The meaning of life is to live rich. To be courageous. Life is short and there’s many lives for us to live within that short time. Many places to see, many wells to peek in. You don’t have to jump straight into them all but at least take a look and see how deep the water is. Find what rich life means, to you. Is it money? No…

– Money might be riches in your wallet but what are the riches of the heart is a totally different matter.

– You’re right. So don’t be afraid. Go where your heart yearns to go.

Above is the conversation I just had with my neighbour. It came out of nowhere, as I was coming home from my walk. Out of nowhere came the words I needed to hear, the courage I needed to feel again. Who knew? Who knew that life can be this generous?

My neighbour did. He had the wisdom. Now it has been passed on to me. And I wish to pass it on to you.

So I hope, I wish, I pray you feel blessed today. Just remember:

The love for life is the only love you need. Out of that love is all other love born.

I cradle the silence

I bow my head as life’s candle is lit

I can see the flame trembling

In the meandering trail of birds

Rejoicing in the cry of a newborn

My gaze, it answers to the infinity

My fingers run smooth

In morning’s blinding curtain

With gratitude

With freedom of breath

In laughter and in vehemence

They run and my hands

They lift me up

When I throw myself in between

The blades of thunder and light

I am the spark

Flaring, blazing

I am the warmth born

Where those two blades meet

I am life

Where swords of contrasts

Sometimes dash to fall

In love

If you feel tired, I hope your strenght is revived. If you feel happy, I hope you feel happier today than you did yesterday. I hope for peace to your soul. Better still, I believe in hope, happiness and peace. I believe in love. I believe in life. I even believe in Mondays.

Feelings… Does that word make you quiver a little bit? Because it makes me sometimes.

That’s where I have been the past few weeks; feeling the days away. There’s been a lot going on, good stuff mainly and a bit not so good stuff, all merrily bunched up under an umbrella of overwhelm. I’m aware that ‘stuff’ is not exactly the frontier of articulation. But that is really why I’m writing this! To ask you:

Do you ever turn into a very promising BBC Weatherman or a woman wannabe? You know, when all you want to do is gag out how you feel.

But instead you find it is so much easier to state ‘What a lovely day it is’ to an elderly lady standing next to you on a bus stop.

Why is it so hard to tell someone that they’re precious, important, dear to you? Or that we’re hurt. Or upset. Why do we feel the need to hide our tears when we get emotional in the cinema or under a vast starry sky?

We use by the ways and anyways and casual dressy phrases to turn our emotions into casualties. To shove them away.

But do we really need to hide?

We all cry, laugh, scream. We all feel. We all quiver. We all lose our bearings and words and freeze to the spot.

But the difference is, getting lost together is much more fun.

That way you have a hand there you can hold onto in the dark. And when the morning comes and you realise all the shadowy sounds were just your imagination, you can be the spark behind their smile. You can be a burst of laughter, a shrugh of relief.

So now, if you let me take your hand again, I’d like to get lost with you. Lost in words:

Life is a miracle full of smaller miracles. Every dandelion is a miracle. Every minute is a miracle being born. Every tiny organism is a miracle. You are a miracle, your body is.

Your body isn’t just inches and pounds, fat and muscle. It is so much more: It is baby heartbeats, it is air filling your lungs, thoughts playing in your brain. You’re so many things, you’re so much. And you can be so much more, life can.

Because life never stops flowing. It is like a river:

Even when the temperature drops, river braves on. Even if the river finally freezes, it is just a passing illusion. Ice can never kill off river’s core, its heart. Under the ice that river still keeps on flowing. Even if it is invisible, it is alive.

Your life is that river. River of miracles and opportunities, encounters and goodbyes, surprising acts of kindness, soul-sweeping smiles.

Life loves you.

Every morning it wakes you up, takes your hand and proposes to you. But sometimes it can be like a forgetful child, wondering so far that you shake and panic. But those moments are just life’s little insecurities, magic tricks, temporary vanishing acts. So don’t worry.

Because life is never as far as it seems to be. In fact, you cannot lose it. It is inside you.

Okay, this piece is something a bit different. I actually wrote it yesterday, in a rush of creativity, but then got a bit scared to share it. Is it too simple, too different from my other pieces?

But then again, isn’t that what love sometimes is? So simple you can’t rationalise it? You can only feel it.

Love is cooking dinner to someone and being able to make their potatoes taste like caviar. Because when that someone tastes those potatoes, what they really taste is their love for the hands that peeled them. And that makes those humble spuds diamonds in their eyes.

No wonder Gordon Ramsay is always so picky. He should quit the shouting for a bit and try some love.

I have come to realise why we need art so badly. Why our writing and photos and thoughts are so important.

Because art, be it painting with words or brushstokers or using a camera lense as your guiding eye, is essentially a rebirth.

In art, you can lose yourself and find yourself again. It is about losing your perspective, stepping into new stories, meeting the stranger inside you. But miraculously, it is also about gaining perspective. How many times, after a good art-bath, have you emerged with clearer sight or a fresh angle?

That is the magic of art, writing, photography. You are free, yet grounded at the same time.

Your pen, your camera or paint tube is a solid compass in your hand. But for once, you can let yourself go. You can build storms and tsunamis in your mind, kiss a stranger passionately, live in a French film and smoke too much, you can make big look small and small look big. You can make anything. You can change your skin. And when you return to yourself, quite often you find that art has taken you somewhere different.

Art is seeing human. It is peeking inside yourself and reaching outside yourself, at the same time. It makes you want to keep your eyes open. Makes you want to wonder and understand.

Holding art in your mind is like having lemon juice on your tongue. It prickles. And when you feel that prickle, it’s impossible to forget that you’re alive. That’s why I love art so much, in all its forms.

Deep below, under the stubborn ice and mouths frozen shut, the roots of life still linger. Slowly, they string their fine fingers upwards, infiltrate the army of snow flakes besieging us. Those fingers, you can feel them caressing your skin when you fall your cheek pressed to the iron-cold ground; sprigs and sprouts of onion being born, the sweet-tasting sap brewing, the birch babies and oak saplings still playing hide-and-seek, until the day that earth’s anticipation, its certainty of spring stronger than thousand ice ages, breaks all winter’s barriers and blossoms into light leaves of coltsfoot, pansy, primrose and thistle. But not quite yet my dear, not quite yet. First, we have to live through this concerto of whispering winds, nothing but rumours of life budding. That way we can have two summers; one blossoming in our ears and one, in time, blooming up from undeground, inviting us to a flower field dance.

Waiting for the spring is a sweet expectation, it is like waiting at the train station for an old friend to arrive. Peace and love, and warmth to melt your winter fingers! Take care.

Here you will find general odes to art and book-worming, as well as thoughts, my poetry scribbles and inspiring works of others!
Occasional rants, motivational talks and pleas for love, unity and understanding also likely. You know, the geeky flower-power stuff.

Photos, poetry and other written content published through this blog, unless otherwise clearly specified, are created by Daydreamdaisies and are under full copyright. Links and excerpts may be used, provided that appropriate direction and acknowledgment is given to the original content daydreamdaisies.wordpess.com.